


The Maze of Terror

by lost_spook



Category: Adam Adamant Lives!
Genre: 1960s, Case Fic, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:36:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5431652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Georgie’s received the invitation of a lifetime, Simms is starstruck, and Adam is on the trail of an unspeakable villain who’s terrifying people to death – literally!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Maze of Terror

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liadt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/gifts).



> With many thanks to Persiflage for beta-ing a lengthy fic in an unfamiliar fandom!

Georgina Jones arrived at Adam’s house at the top of the multi-storey car park, only to find no one home. Just when she was bursting with news, too, she thought, and spent the next fifteen minutes walking up and down outside, kicking at loose bits of stone and looking at other people’s cars. There was definitely no sign of that distinctive Mini Cooper.

At the point of finally deciding there was no use in waiting any longer (she was sure it had already been _hours_ ), she spotted Simms heading over with a bag of groceries in his arms. His face fell on seeing her.

“Oh, it’s you. Just when I thought we’d finally lost you.”

Georgie laughed and stuck her tongue out at him. “Oh, come on, let me in! I’ve got the most gorgeous news and I’m dying to tell someone! And right now, Simms, it looks like you’re it.”

“Oh, lucky me,” said Simms in sepulchral tones.

She kept close to him, following him in before he could possibly shut the door on her, and once inside, threw herself onto the sofa while Simms took his shopping into the kitchen.

“Mr Adamant is Out, miss,” said Simms, returning to the lounge.

“Well, I’d noticed. Like I said, you’ll do. If I don’t tell somebody, I’ll explode.”

“What a horrible thought,” said Simms. “But go on, Miss Jones – especially if there’s a hope of you leaving immediately after. Otherwise, I suppose you’ll be demanding tea and muffins again.”

Georgie grinned. “Ooh, yes, please, Simms! Would you?” As Simms disappeared into the kitchen once more, she prowled about the room, seizing upon the tantalising file marked secret, carelessly left on the coffee table, and reading it with interest. Glancing up, half her attention still on the file, she said, “Where is he, anyway? Is it a case? Can I help?”

Simms returned with a tray, a glare, and a warning limerick:

“A young lady whose pockets were loaded  
Found at the baker’s her morals eroded  
She fell on a muffin  
And wouldn’t stop stuffin’  
Until at last one fateful day Miss Loaded exploded.”

Georgie clapped, and then shoved half a muffin in her mouth regardless. “Yes, but where _is_ Adam?”

“He went to the cinema, miss.”

She nearly choked. When she’d recovered, she looked up at him. “Not really? Whatever has he gone to see?”

“He said he was always interested in the science in its infancy and he’d heard that the local flea pit was showing something generally regarded to be a classic of the medium, so he’s taken himself off to see _Casablanca_.”

Georgie finished her muffin. “Hmm. I think he should have plumped for something more exciting, don’t you? Something with a bit more –” She mimed sword fighting with her free hand, nearly causing an accident with the tea tray. “Well, _oomph_! Still, at least it wasn’t _It’s a Bikini World_. He’d hate all that.”

“Who would hate what, Miss Jones?” said a familiar voice from behind them.

Simms answered for her. “Believe me, sir, you don’t want to know.”

“I suspect you may be right,” said Adam, with a wary glance at Georgina.

She smiled. “Did you have a nice time at the cinema, Mr Adamant? How was _Casablanca_?”

“I regret to say I am unable to inform you. Due to some inexplicable confusion, the cinema’s owners felt it necessary to instead display a lurid tale that I took to be loosely based on Mr Stoker’s book. Loosely, in this case, being the operative word.”

“Oh, dear,” said Georgie.

Simms threw her a look. “Plenty of oomph, though.”

“Wrong sort of oomph,” said Georgie. “ _Vengeance of Fu Manchu_ , that’s what he wanted. Derring do and things.”

Adam gave her a reproachful glance. “I was merely wishful of seeing the art at what was reputed to be its finest. Sadly, that was not to be – or at least, so I whole-heartedly trust.”

“But it’s only for fun,” Georgie said. “Nobody takes it too seriously, you know.”

Adam repressed a slight shudder. “That such things should masquerade as entertainment!”

“Oh, come _on_ , Mr Adamant,” said Georgie, twisting about on the sofa to face him, leaning on its back. “Your lot had melodramas and Penny Dreadfuls and all sorts of things! It’s no different.”

He smiled. “Indeed, and a great concern they were – to various tediously officious and interfering persons. It was not that aspect that distressed me so much as what seemed like an unending parade of all manner of appalling indecencies – I found myself forced to leave before the denouement.”

“I expect they staked him,” said Simms. “Dracula, I mean. You probably didn’t miss much. He rarely stays down for long. Tea, sir?”

Adam gave a sudden, private smile. “You know, did I ever tell you that Stoker was inspired by one of my exploits? He merely felt the need to embroider the details – the result was almost entirely unrecognisable.”

“You’re kidding us.”

“Most assuredly I am not, Miss Jones. Impressed though he was by the tale of my battle to vanquish Mr Vladimir, he felt the story of a mad dentist and his monstrously vicious mechanical false teeth was not the stuff of legend. Posterity appears to have proved him right.”

Georgie laughed. “Oh, now, I know that must be a whopper!”

“A . . . whopper?”

“A lie,” said Simms. “A particularly large one, so Miss Jones is implying. Difficult to swallow.”

“Too right!”

Adam removed his cape with a flourish. “Oh? Miss Jones, I never tell falsehoods!”

“Anyway,” Georgie said, “I didn’t come here to talk about _Dracula_ , I came to tell you my news. You’ll never guess what!”

“In that case, I suggest you save us the trouble and enlighten us now.”

“I’m trying to,” said Georgie. “You know how I got to be an extra on that film last week, the one with Genevieve Carling?”

Adam said, “Ah, that explains the peaceful time we’ve enjoyed of late. Although, Miss Jones, after today’s experience, I must question as to whether or not such employment is suitable for a respectable young female.”

“Honestly, all I did was stand around in crowd scenes and wave a bit and shout sometimes. And, anyway, you can’t possibly say that Genevieve Carling isn’t ladylike. It’s practically what she’s famous for. You’d see if you met her.”

“The delectable Miss Carling,” said Simms, with a faraway look in his eye and an ungentleman’s gentleman-like sigh.

“Simms!” Georgie said.

He snapped back to attention and gave her a glare. “I happen to be a devotee of the theatrical arts – and a great admirer of her Lady Macbeth. I was in the same production, as it happens – well, I was helping out at the box office while she was treading the boards, but it was an outstanding performance. Unforgettable.”

“Anyway, the point is,” said Georgie, persevering with her tale, “that she took a liking to me and she’s asked me to stay with her – she thinks she might have a job for me at this new studio of hers, when it’s up and running. Isn’t that marvy?”

Adam gave a smile. “Well, that is a compliment, Miss Jones. It should also keep you out of mischief – I couldn’t be more delighted to hear it.”

“It sounds highly unlikely to me,” said Simms. “Are you sure she didn’t tell you to take a running jump off a cliff and you misheard?”

“Don’t be so mean. Of course not. I’m going down there next week and it’s going to be fab. Shall I get you her autograph, Simms?”

“Don’t trouble yourself.”

Georgie grinned. “Still got a battered old signed programme at home somewhere, have you?”

“Talking of home, I suggest you should return to yours now that you have shared your news,” said Adam. “I congratulate you on your good fortune, but I am very busy with matters that most emphatically do not concern you, Miss Jones.”

She nodded. “Those weird disappearances, right? People turning up scared to death? Sounds horrible.”

“Miss Jones!”

“Look, maybe I can help. One of them turned up in Little Middling in Sussex, didn’t they? That’s not far from Carling Hall. I could ask a few questions around the place – see if I can turn up something for you.”

“Miss Jones, you will oblige me by doing nothing of the kind. Besides, you would hardly wish to neglect your charming host, would you?”

“We’ll see,” said Georgie, by which she meant that she most certainly would be asking questions if she got the chance.

 

A further period of peace and tranquillity followed, during which Georgie only made one reappearance before leaving for Carling Hall in Little Middling, Sussex. It was entirely blissful, Adam claimed, and Simms agreed, even if perhaps Adam felt a certain elusive element was somehow lacking. Of course, that was no doubt due to the fact that he had not yet tracked down the rogues responsible for these mysterious disappearances – and given that at least three of the eleven victims had turned up dead, it was probably not going too far to call them murderers.

He arrived back from interviewing one of the last people to see the latest victim alive, to find Simms waiting for him with a message.

“Sir,” said Simms, “Miss Jones telephoned a short while ago. She wanted me to tell you that she thinks she’s discovered something fishy going on at Carling Hall and you should go down at once. She said it was terribly important, but she was probably exaggerating as usual.”

Adam paused, alert, waiting for the rest, but Simms didn’t continue. “Was there no more, Simms?”

“Well, I don’t know – that was when the phone went dead, sir.”

Adam turned sharply. “You were cut off? Has she attempted to telephone again?”

“No, sir.”

“That does not bode well, Simms.”

“Few things involving Miss Jones do, sir. But I’ve got an overnight case packed for you already, if you’re thinking of dashing down there.”

“Indeed,” said Adam. “This is appalling, Simms! No doubt she failed to heed my warnings not to enquire about these deaths and some evil has befallen her – she may be in grave danger!”

“One can but hope, sir,” Simms said.

 

Adam drove down to Little Middling a little while later. It was a pleasant afternoon and a short drive, but he paid little attention to the sunshine and the charms of a summer beginning to turn to autumn, his mind on darker matters. What had become of Miss Jones? Was this not precisely the sort of thing about which he never failed to warn her? However, ‘I told you so’ would be cold comfort indeed had some dastardly villain cruelly made her his latest victim. Whoever they were, he decided, they would most certainly pay for it if they had harmed her in any way.

He arrived at Carling Hall to find that it didn’t look particularly sinister. It had a high wall and large iron gate, but once inside the grounds were open and well-kept and the house not some vast Gothic manor house, but a charming Georgian mansion, also in good order. He did not relax his guard, however, as he knew that such pleasant frontages could still conceal unspeakable evil, unlikely as it might seem. The door was opened by a cheerful maid and he was not kept waiting long before he met the lady of the house. 

“Mr Adamant?” Genevieve Carling said, moving forward with a smile, and holding out her hand to him, which he took and kissed in formal greeting. “Georgina asked me if she might invite a friend to join us and once she explained who you were, I couldn’t have been happier. I’ve been curious to meet you ever since I read your story in the papers.”

He gave her bow and faint smile. “Had I realised, I would not have been so slow to indulge your whim, madam. I hope I do not prove a disappointment?”

“Quite the reverse,” said Miss Carling, another quick smile softening the otherwise more serene, classic beauty of her features. She was somewhere in her late thirties or early forties – an age at which it was impolite to enquire further, as Adam well knew. “Delighted, I’m sure.”

He coughed. “I’m happy to hear it,” he said. “Do you by any chance know where I might find Miss Jones? I am in need of a rather urgent word with her.”

“I believe she was upstairs, but I shall –”

“Mr Adamant!” There was no need for Miss Carling to continue, as Miss Jones herself came racing down the main staircase, leaping down the last three steps, and nearly falling over Adam as a result of her unwise haste. He supposed, as he steadied her, that he should only be grateful that she hadn’t slid down the banister.

He turned to look at her, as she gave him a wide grin. “Miss Jones,” he said. “This once, I find myself greatly relieved to see you.”

“Oh, charming,” said Georgie, taking his arm nevertheless. “Genny, can I show Adam round the rose garden?”

Miss Carling laughed. “Be my guest.”

 

Adam and Georgie walked along the gravel paths through the rose garden in a sheltered corner of the grounds.

“Well, Miss Jones?”

She pulled him towards a stone seat, unusually slow to reply.

“Miss Jones?” he said again, with more concern. “Whatever has happened?”

She sat down, looking back up at him. “Well, I got talking to some of the staff – especially this one girl called Sybil. We got pretty friendly and she started to tell me that every so often some of the guests just seemed to vanish. I mean, they were supposed to have left suddenly, but no one saw them and sometimes they’d left a lot of their belongings behind them. Sounds pretty off, doesn’t it?”

“I fear that it does indeed sound, er, ‘off’, as you put it. Was that why you summoned me here?”

Georgie took a deep breath, working herself up to the difficult bit. “Partly. You see, she remembered a couple of the names – and one of them was one of the people who’d been in your files. Giles Eliott or something.”

“You are correct. He was found dead, cause unknown, a few miles from here.”

She gave a shiver. “Scared to death?”

“I’m afraid so. Who can be behind such devilish schemes? One can hardly suspect Miss Carling of any involvement. It’s unthinkable.”

“Oh,” said Georgie, and sagged a little on the seat. “You know I was really hoping you wouldn’t say that, but I suppose it was inevitable.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “You _want_ her to be responsible for multiple murders? I thought you admired her?”

“I do,” said Georgie. “I mean, I think she’s pretty fab and all that, but if _you_ think she’s charming then there’s almost no chance she’s innocent, is there?”

“Please don’t be ridiculous, Miss Jones! The mere fact of my approving of a lady does not make her some black-hearted villainess.” Adam adjusted his cravat in irritation. He coughed, a sudden if unwelcome catalogue of any number of unscrupulous females coming unbidden to his mind, ranging from the detestable Margo Kane to his own Louise. Nevertheless, he was certain that most of those unfortunate women had merely been tragically misled and corrupted by falling into the company of male blackguards. “However, this _is_ her home, so for the sake of argument, I will admit the possibility. Still, I am sure a few words with your other young friend might uncover the true villain of the piece. Would you be so kind as to introduce me to her?”

Georgie looked down suddenly and then back up at him, at her most waif-like, and shivering again slightly in an unexpected cold breeze. “But that’s just it, Mr Adamant! That’s why I had to telephone you. You see, she’s dead. They found her this morning – like this –” She paused to mime the face of one who had died in fear, although with less than her usual enthusiasm for such things, if still not what Adam considered respectful when speaking of the dead. “It was _awful_.”

“I’m sure,” said Adam, sitting beside her and reaching for her hand. “If you would only listen to me, Miss Jones, you would be spared such dreadful sights, but you seem to have what I can only describe as a perverse desire to seek them out.”

Georgie turned towards him. “You said it was a good thing I’d been invited down here! You said I’d be out of trouble.”

“Provided you made no unwise enquiries into those deaths,” he reminded her. “Nevertheless, Miss Jones, you may count on me to avenge the murder of your unfortunate young friend. In the meantime, I suggest you make your excuses to Miss Carling and go home, where you will be safe.”

Georgie raised her head, and her mouth set in its most stubborn line. “Not likely – not until we’ve stopped the murderer! She was my friend and it was probably me that got her into trouble, so I’m not going anywhere! Besides, I’m the one who’s been asked to stay and if I go, you’ll have to leave, too, and what use is that?”

“Then this once you had better do as you are told while you remain here,” he said, unable to argue that point. One could not, after all, barge into a lady’s house and demand to stay uninvited. “I’ve no wish to see you meet a similar fate.”

Georgie’s expression darkened further. “No fear of that. They won’t get me.” Then she looked at him with a sudden smile. “Besides, you’d never let them.”

“One is sometimes tempted, Miss Jones – sorely tempted!”

She leant against him, a boyish nudge, arm to arm. “Tell you what, though – I have learned one thing since I rang you.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, I knew Genny had an attraction of some kind down in the cellars,” she said. “All sorts of film props and things she’s saved and put together, like an exhibition. But you know what it is? All horror things, just like they’d have used in your awful Dracula film. She’s got her own sort of Chamber of Horrors down there. Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?”

Adam contemplated the prospect. “I must say that it is – but on the other hand, I haven’t yet heard of Madame Tussaud’s being responsible for their customers dying of terror. If it is that, there must be more to it.”

“Well, ask to see it,” said Georgie. “She seems keen to show it off to anyone who’s interested.”

He eyed her curiously. “And you are not?”

“I wasn’t earlier,” she said, her expression immediately clouding again. “Not after – after poor Sybbie. And anyway, it’s been super warm, so I wanted to do some sunbathing!”

“Sun . . . bathing?” he echoed.

“You know – lying around in the sunshine. Well, when there is some,” she explained. “Put a bit of lotion on and try to catch a tan. Sunbathing, see?”

“Logic suggests one must wear worryingly few articles of clothing for this exercise.”

Georgie laughed. “Yes, not your sort of thing at all, Mr Adamant. I expect you’ll be much happier down in the cellars with the cobwebs and the plastic monsters.”

 

“Oh, my maze,” said Miss Carling when Adam made enquiries, after her cornering her in the study. “Yes, of course. It’s quite the attraction. I use it to bring in a few pennies for my project – the studio I want to open. Of course, it’s all nothing but old junk I saved from various films. Still, in the right lighting and atmosphere, the illusion works. And what else is film all about?”

“Indeed,” Adam said.

Georgie perched on the edge of a chair. “Some bits move, too, Genny was telling me. It sounds groovy.”

“I like to think so,” Miss Carling said, with a small smile. “People do enjoy that little thrill of terror, don’t they? Especially when one knows it’s safe in reality – nothing but an old mask, or backdrop, or special effect.”

Adam gave her a nod. “Ah, but you forget the most important part of the illusion, madam – the actor or actress bringing it all to life.”

“Flatterer,” said Miss Carling. Then she sighed. “Oh, you’re right enough – at least, when it comes to the stage. In film, the special effects come before anything. They cost more money than us mere actors!”

He smiled. “Well, I would be most interested to inspect your – ah – maze of terror, is it? If you would be so kind?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “You can go down any time you like – just give me half an hour to alert Maurice. It’s not the full experience without the soundtrack and the lighting, and he sees to the technical side of things. The rest of the time he’s our handyman about the place, so he needs some warning. Still, I had heard that you were fearless, Mr Adamant? Won’t you find my little piece of theatricality rather boring?”

He played with his cane. “Oh, not fearless, Miss Carling. I don’t think any mere mortal could make that boast, not in truth. Only madmen have no fear – fear is one of the things that helps to keep us alive. However, I like to think I have any such feelings under control. They do not master me.”

“I wonder what they are?” said Genevieve Carling, an odd smile playing about her features. She put her hand to her mouth. “Wouldn’t it be interesting to find out?”

Georgie fell off the arm and into the chair. “Oh, that’s easy. Mr Adamant is terrified of our immoral modern ways. They make his hair stand on end all the time.”

“They may dismay me on occasions,” said Adam, rewarding her with a stern glance. “Occasionally even horrify me – terrify me, however – never!”

Georgie folded her arms. “Well, in that case, I’ll think I’ll go slip into my bikini and do some more sunbathing. Want to come and put some lotion on my back?”

“Miss Jones!” he said, in instantly appalled tones.

“Natch!” she said, and laughed helplessly for far longer than Adam felt was warranted. 

 

“Well, I don’t see how this could have killed anyone,” said Georgie in a whisper. “It’s fun, but it’s like something you’d find in a fair or at the end of a pier. It’s not even as bad as Madame Tussaud's. I don’t think it’s very scary at all, do you?”

Adam poked at a particularly unconvincing Frankenstein’s Monster with his swordstick. Its eyes flashed at him. “I must admit that I’m inclined to agree. Nevertheless, I feel that this _must_ be the key. I think I shall have to persuade Maurice to allow me to examine the control panel – I wonder if that might be somewhat more enlightening?”

A nearby skeleton gave a jerky, mechanical lunge at Georgie, who shrieked and clutched at Adam.

“No, not scary at all,” he told her, amused. “End of the pier fare, I believe you said, Miss Jones?”

Georgie let go of him, pulling a face, and then laughing at her own silliness. “Hey! It took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“I believe we’ve seen quite enough – I shall go find Maurice and make some enquiries.” He led the way out, pushing aside long, fake cobwebs with his stick as they went. Behind them, a stuffed raven turned its head to watch their progress, its eyes glowing red.

 

Georgie helped him hunt down Maurice, Miss Carling’s technical effects wizard and odd-job-man, and introduced him to Adam, who gave him a smile. Maurice merely narrowed his eyes and, then, on hearing Adam’s request, glared.

“No, you can’t,” Maurice said. “I’m the only one who goes in there. I can’t have visitors messing with the controls – they’re old enough as it is, and liable to fall apart if not handled in the right way.”

Adam raised his eyebrows. “My dear sir, I had no intention of touching anything. I’m merely fascinated by the technology involved and would be most gratified if you would let me have a glimpse behind the scenes, as it were.”

“Well, you can’t,” said Maurice. “It’s more than my job’s worth.”

“Maurice, are you being unfriendly again?” Miss Carling said, arriving on the scene. She shook her head at him, tutting. “Haven’t I told you it’s no way to go about life? Still,” she said, smiling as she put a hand on Adam’s arm, “he is a whiz with the equipment, so I find it best to humour him in these things.”

Adam look down at her. “I wonder, madam,” he said. “May I have a word?”

“Of course,” said Miss Carling, looking faintly amused. “Any time. This way, Mr Adamant.”

 

They had gone too quickly for Georgie to follow. “Hey,” she said, belatedly as the door shut behind them. “That’s not fair.”

She would have run after them, but Maurice grabbed hold of her arm, causing her to turn around, giving a yell of protest and kicking at him as she tried to pull free. “What do you think you’re doing? Get off me!”

“I think not,” said Maurice, marching her down the corridor, much to her annoyance and despite her spirited resistance. “You’re the one that’s been causing trouble down here, aren’t you? It was you who put Sybbie up to creeping into the control room.”

“Oh, is that what happened?” Georgie said and kicked him harder. “You pig – you _bully_ – you killed her!”

Maurice gave a slight smile. “No, not me – not precisely. You’ll find out. Miss Carling’s going to see off your friend Mr Adamant in the same way – and then it’ll be your turn. First, I’m going to give you a front row seat, since you’re so curious.”

“Adam won’t fall for your tricks – he’ll stop you,” said Georgie, despite her private misgivings about what might happen to Adam when he was at the mercy of a female he refused to believe was evil. Again.

Maurice dragged her into a room, rather like a tiny cinema, with the four rows of tiered seats looking down towards a projection screen. 

“Hey – what is this place? If you’re going to try and make me die of fright watching horror flicks or something, you’ve got to be joking!”

He threw a disdainful glance at her, pushing her in and letting go of her as he paused to lock the door behind them. Georgie nursed her bruised arm and gave him a dark look. “Yes, that would be unlikely, wouldn’t it? No, this is the viewing room – we project the footage being recorded live from our little maze of terror. Some customers like to see what they’re getting – others just like to see.”

“Wait – what?” said Georgie, furrowing her brow. “I don’t get it.”

Maurice gave a smile. “You soon will.”

 

“Madam, I must speak with you most urgently,” said Adam. “Where will we be private?”

Miss Carling still looked amused. “My study should do. I’m intrigued, though – whatever is this about?”

“I must inform you that I believe that your maze downstairs is being used for nefarious purposes,” said Adam. “I imagine Maurice is responsible – I think you may have been less than wise in allowing him full responsibility for the electrical effects.”

“Dear me,” Miss Carling said, stubbing out her cigarette in the ash tray on the desk. It was shaped like a skull. “What a ridiculous idea.”

Adam took her hand. “Naturally, you could not imagine such evil could be lurking in your own household, but I fear it is so.”

“No, no,” said Miss Carling. “I mean, whatever gave you the idea that Maurice was capable of coming up with a scheme like that? He’s brilliant with the technical side of things – invaluable even – but I assure you, Mr Adamant, the plan was all mine.”

“All – wait, no – Miss Carling, I don’t think you understand –”

Genevieve Carling gave a slight sigh as she hit him on the head with the novelty ash tray. “No, Mr Adamant, I really don’t think that _you_ do.” Then she glanced at the fake skull in her hand. “Alas, poor Adam, and I can’t even say I knew you well!”

 

“Mr Adamant will beat your maze,” said Georgie to Maurice, as he finished tying her to one of the chairs. “You won’t get away with it!” She paused, screwing up her face in thought. “What _are_ you trying to get away with, anyway? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Genevieve Carling knocked on the door, and Maurice hastened to open it. “Take him down there, will you, Maurice, darling? I’ll see to Georgina.”

“Oh, can’t someone else do that?” said Maurice. “I need to get back to the controls. I still haven’t finished the rewiring after that other girl of yours got at it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Temper, temper, Maurice. Someone’s got to take him down there and it can’t be me, now, can it? Off you go.”

Maurice gave in, turning to a cupboard at the back and pulling out some earphones, presumably as a precaution, before heading out the door. Once he had left, Genevieve turned back to Georgie.

“I expect you want to know what this is about, don’t you, dear?” she said.

Georgie struggled against the ropes. “Well, yes. If you’re going to kill me and Adam, it’d be nice to at least know why.”

“My new studios,” she said. “You know what I’ve told you about them – that we can work on better films, more roles for women. The sexism in this industry defies belief, as does the size of the average male ego!”

Georgie wrinkled her nose. “Well, yes, and I still think that’s great, but not if you have to murder people to do it!”

“I know,” said Genny, with a sigh, and a drag of her cigarette. “But it’s so hard to raise money – and we _will_ need it. What can one do? I’d been reading about ultrasonic sound waves and the effects they can have on the brain and, knowing what a star Maurice is with a sound system, it was all too tempting. Some people paid to be terrified but there were a few too many accidents – and then we found that some people would pay a great deal more to have other people suffer such ‘accidents’. And then there are yet other people who get a thrill out of watching. Yes, dear,” she said at Georgie’s expression. “Human nature is sickening sometimes, isn’t it? But I’ll make up for it when I get what I’m after.”

Georgie swallowed. “You can’t,” she said, finding herself oddly near to tears for a moment. “It doesn’t matter what you do, or what films you make – or _anything_. You killed all those people. You killed poor Sybbie. I don’t see how any kind of art can be worth that.”

“Art is worth everything,” said Genevieve, heading to the door. “At least, one has to believe that if one wishes to retain one’s soul. I’ll leave you, then, my dear – but you have until your friend leaves us to change your mind. I’d like your help with the studios – I meant that.”

Georgie closed her eyes. “Well, thanks but no thanks. You can count me out.” She waited until she heard the door shut, and then opened her eyes again, surveyed her predicament with frustration. “Zoinks,” she said under her breath. How was she going to get out of this one? Even more importantly, how was she going to get Mr Adamant out of that chamber of horrors before they finished him off?

 

Adam came to himself, if somewhat groggily, as Maurice dragged him into the central chamber of the ‘maze’. He stared up at the man, before leaping to his feet and causing him to start. 

“I suggest you defend yourself, sir!” said Adam.

Maurice backed away. “I can’t hear you!” he shouted. “What was that?”

“I said,” Adam repeated more loudly, as he dealt him the first of several rapid blows to the chest, “that you should defend yourself!” He caught at Maurice’s headphones, tearing them off and throwing them aside. “Or perhaps we should find out what _you_ are afraid of!”

Maurice fought back wildly, but with little expertise. Adam grabbed hold of the nearest weapon to hand – a fibre glass axe with fake blood on it – and struck him over the head, causing Maurice to stumble back into the wall, falling to the ground, even as Adam felt a sudden unaccustomed chill down his spine. His surroundings instantly looked a little more unearthly, even though he knew them to be mere imitations.

“It’s all in the mind,” he said under his breath. “I can withstand this trickery if I keep that thought foremost above all others.” He closed his eyes to avoid seeing the Dracula dummy lunge at him – nothing but illusion, a mirage!

He opened them again on a sudden realisation – the man had been wearing protective headgear! Adam moved forward, but found it impossible to see where the earphones might have fallen. He saw instead things crawling to the sides of his eyes, saw The Face leering over him, and worse still, that other far more familiar face. “Louise,” he said, and then shook himself. “No, no. It is all mere chicanery – remember that!”

He got down onto his hands and knees, feeling for the object that might save him from his fate, trusting that his sense of touch might be more reliable than his other senses at this moment. 

It was no good, though, because suddenly he was falling – falling – falling –

 

The thing about hanging around with Mr Adamant, Georgie had found, was that she’d soon got used to being tied up every other week and, after about the tenth time or so, a girl started to pick up a thing or two about getting untied again.

She tugged at the ropes and wriggled about in the cinema-style chair. She didn’t really have Adam’s knack of it, but at least she was pretty slight where it counted and, gritting her teeth and trying one more time, she managed to pull one hand free, and from there it was fairly plain sailing.

The worst thing was what she could see on the screen. Watching Mr Adamant fight Maurice had been great, but not so much what was happening now. She kept expecting him to get back up again, but barring one brief, futile attempt, he hadn’t.

So, she thought, finally untied, she had better go and help him! She shook herself and crossed over to the cupboard, looking to see if there were any more protective ear-phones. She was in luck – there was one more pair inside. The first thing, though, she decided, was to try and get to the control panel. If she could only switch that off, there’d be no need to worry about anything else.

However, on leaving the room – it didn’t have a lock, for which she was thankful, although her lock picking skills were getting better lately too – and creeping down the corridor, she found that the door to the control room was firmly locked. She didn’t think knocking on it would exactly help, either.

Well, she decided, she needed to get downstairs and help Adam herself – or call the police – or find some other member of the household who wasn’t evil to help – or _something_! 

 

Simms was standing in the main hall of Carling Hall, admiring his surroundings, when the peace of the moment was suddenly broken in the rudest way imaginable.

“Simms!” Georgie squawked, popping out from a door somewhere behind him and flinging herself at him without the sort of warning he felt should come with hazards like her. “How marvellous of you! However did you know?”

He grimaced at her. “Miss Jones, I see. In the flesh and even more annoying than usual. Life’s full of disappointments. And I didn’t know – whatever it is you think I ought to have known. Mr Adamant decided he would be needing more than an overnight case after all, so he telephoned for me to bring the rest of his things. I take it something’s gone horribly wrong – as usual?”

“Never mind all that,” said Georgie, tugging at his arm. “You’ve got to come with me before it’s too late! If we don’t hurry, they’ll kill Mr Adamant!”

Simms lost colour. “Shouldn’t we telephone for the police?”

“There’s not _time_! Come on, Simms!” She grabbed at his hand, dragging him along the hallway. “Okay, now you go up that way and turn off those controls and I’ll get to Mr Adamant!”

Simms refused to let go of her hand, impeding her attempt to run off. “Miss Jones, what controls? Where? I’ll need more to go on than that.”

“Sorry,” she said. “Up the back stairs, about six doors along the corridor, but you’ll know it because it’s got a great big DANGER NO ENTRY sign on it. I think Genny Carling’s in there – up to no good!”

Simms raised an eyebrow as she dashed off. “Why am I not surprised?”

 

Georgie opened the door to the start of the ‘maze’, remembering to put her earphones on, and hoping they’d be effective enough to allow her to reach Adam safely. She made her way through the cobwebs and plastic monsters, and stepped carefully over the body of Maurice to reach Adam, who was now lying on the floor of the room, at the foot of one of the skeletons, muttering under his breath something about keeping out of the way of those deadly teeth. He turned over and grabbed at her wrist as she knelt beside him, as he might to stop himself from falling.

His grip was one of iron, as he liked to claim. Georgie couldn’t pull free and she hesitated over removing the earphones after all. She could get them off easily enough, but putting them onto Adam one-handed could be tricky.

“Mr Adamant,” she said, shouting into his ear. “It’s all right – it’s not real!” She wasn’t sure how ultrasonics worked, but she decided there was nothing else for it and sang _Hi Ho Silver Lining_ at the top of her lungs to try and distract him from whatever horrors were plaguing him – and kept her fingers tightly crossed that Simms would get to the control panel in time. Maybe she should have gone, she thought. Whatever was taking him so long?

 

“Do excuse me, Miss Carling,” said Simms, as she opened the door of the forbiddingly marked room in response to his persistent knocking. “I hate to trouble you when you’re busy, but if you’d be so good as to sign this autograph, you’d make a devoted fan very happy. It’s not for me, of course, it’s for my Uncle Albert –”

She swung around. “Do I know you?”

“And here was me thinking you wouldn’t remember – we shared a season in Portsmouth once. You gave your Lady Macbeth.”

She gave a puzzled frown. “I’m sorry?”

“And it’d be even better if you could turn off that contraption behind you,” said Simms, trying to dart forward and get at it, but she stopped him by pulling out a gun. He put up his hands at once in dismay, but she fired the weapon regardless. He ducked hastily, the remembrance of a past performance in a murder mystery coming helpfully to mind at the requisite moment, and the bullet smacked into the wall behind him. Simms looked up and gulped, feeling thoroughly queasy at his narrow escape. Still, he thought, in for a penny, in for a pound – and dived again for the controls.

Miss Carling turned, firing again, this time hitting the panel, sparks flying out of it, followed shortly by a series of small explosions. She jumped back in alarm and Simms got to his feet again, heading for the door.

“Why, thanks, Miss,” he said, as he reached it. “I think you’ve cracked it!”

Miss Carling stared and then leapt forward in fury even as Simms hastily pulled the door shut after him and leant against it, sweating and trembling. This wasn’t the life for him. He was quite happy to leave all this sort of thing to Mr Adamant. It all went to show that it was true what they said – you should never meet your idols. 

On the other side of the door there was another, considerably larger explosion, knocking the door right off its hinges and nearly flattening Simms.

“Oh, dear,” he said eventually. He pulled himself out from under it, relieved to find that he was still in one piece, although, peering in through the doorway at the inferno inside, he found the same couldn’t be said of Miss Carling. 

“A tragic loss to the industry,” he concluded, picking himself up and dusting down his suit with a shaking hand, too disturbed as yet for an apposite limerick. “Out, out brief candle – talking of which, best phone the Fire Brigade!”

 

“Miss Jones!” said Adam, making a typically rapid recovery and sitting up straight. He found he was unaccountably gripping her wrist and released her in alarm. “What are you doing? And,” he added, shouting now, “will you please _stop_ making that dreadful noise?”

“ _Flies are in your pea soup, baby, they’re waving at_ . . . Oh,” said Georgie, as he removed the earphones. She gave him one of her brightest smiles and kissed him on the forehead in her relief. “Adam! You’re not dead!”

He shook his head at her. “Of course not. Don’t be absurd, Miss Jones. I trust that you are also unharmed?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, with a nod. “I had earphones, and you’d already dealt with Maurice. There’s just – oh, Mr Adamant! We’d better go and see if Simms is all right! I sent him up to the control room to turn everything off, but I’m sure Genny was still there.”

He caught at her arm before she could jump up. “My dear Miss Jones, there is no cause for alarm. If he had not been successful, the machinery would not have stopped – and in the nick of time, I think I may add.”

“Yes, the show’s over, ladies and gentlemen,” said a voice from somewhere in the darkness behind them. “Make your bows.”

They looked up to see Simms making his way towards them, pushing aside the giant fake cobwebs with disapproval. “I see I should have brought my feather duster. Somebody hasn’t bothered cleaning this place for years!”

“Simms!” said Georgie, jumping up and hugging him, while Simms pulled a more than usually horrible face. “You did it!”

Simms coughed. “Er, yes, I did. In more ways than one – you might say I brought the house down. Time to make a hasty exit if you don’t want to be burned alive!”

“Good grief, Simms,” said Adam. “Surely you’ve not set the place alight? Wasn’t that a trifle excessive, even in these circumstances?”

“It seemed unavoidable at the time, sir. You know how it is.”

“Ah, yes,” said Adam. “I believe I do.”

Georgie looked from one to the other. “Well, come on, then!” she said. “You two don’t _want_ to wind up as cinders, do you?”

“Yes, it’s more than time to take our leave, I feel,” said Adam, picking himself up, dusting down his suit, and striding off at a pace that left Georgie and Simms standing, although not for long.

“Hey,” Georgie said, racing after, dragging Simms behind her. “Mr Adamant! Wait for us!”

**Author's Note:**

> The films Georgie mentions are unfortunately only too real; Adam’s appalling Dracula film, however, is not intended to be any particular real world version.


End file.
